Brother of Stars
by maple mouse
Summary: America is not the happy person he appears to be. He is broken inside and all alone. One-shot.


**Edit: Due to a copyright issue, I had to remove the song lyrics from this story. Sorry!**

America awoke to darkness, as he did nearly every morning. He had been sleeping less and less lately and it was beginning to take a toll on his body. He rolled over to check the clock on his bedside table, 3 AM, he wasn't surprised. He lay awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly. After an hour, he got up and got dressed, wondering why he even bothered.

He drove himself to the world meeting, not bothering to eat breakfast before he left. Italy greeted him in the parking lot, waving enthusiastically. America waved back, plastering a false smile on his face. As soon as Italy left, so did the smile. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, America placed that stupid grin back on his face and entered the building.

As soon as he entered the meeting room, several nations called his name, motioning for him to join them. He laughed and ran to them, chattering mindlessly, that fake smile still on his face. Could no one see past his pathetic excuse of a smile to the pain lying beneath? It was his own fault, he had established himself as the happy one, the strong one, the hero, and heroes were never sad. He wished he could tell them all how he truly felt, show them his tears, show them that he wasn't all they thought he was.

The meeting began and he stood in front of all of them, prattling off the stupid ideas that they expected from him. He didn't hear a word he said, it wasn't as if he was saying anything that deserved remembering. His ramblings at an end, America sat down. Fights broke out among the other nations; he joined their squabbles, mindlessly. He felt nothing but numbness, as if he were simply observing himself from a distance, rather than the one in control.

The meeting ended and America asked loudly if anyone wanted to join him for a trip to McDonald's. They all declined. He drove there by himself, in perfect silence. At the counter, he smiled tauntingly at the woman taking his order, she ignored him, taking his order and wearily calling for the next person in line. He ate his cheeseburger in silence; they had been his favorite food once. He didn't have a favorite anything anymore. Good things just weren't all that good without people there to share them with you.

Back at home, He sat quietly on the grass in his backyard, staring up at the stars. They were so beautiful, shining brightly for all to see, not caring what anyone thought. Did they wish they could stop shining? Were they tired of being what everyone wanted them to be? A tear rolled down America's cheek.

He truly had been happy once, a long time ago. He had had friends back then, real friends, who knew him better than he knew himself. They would have seen through America's fake smiles in an instant. They were all gone now; he had driven them all away.

He cried himself to sleep, thinking of the friends he had lost. He woke up the next morning, still lying on the grass. The sun was shining brightly, he had slept in. That was good.

He didn't change his clothes before heading out. He walked sullenly down the street, not caring where he ended up. He soon found himself at England's front door. He knocked and England answered, frowning at him. America invited himself in. As England stood in the entryway, arms crossed and glaring at him, America wanted to fall to his knees and apologize for all the time he had hurt him. But he didn't, England would never believe him anyways.

He sat in the parlor with England, drinking tea; his own was so sweet he could barely stand to drink it. America rambled endlessly as he always did. England criticized him repeatedly and every word cut him to the core because he knew that they were all true. Yet still he did not stop smiling.

After tea, America dragged England to a club with him. He danced to the music as people cheered, he didn't care. He tried to get England to dance too, but the nation simply shoved him away. America danced alone, yet surrounded by people. He looked for England again. He found him passed out, drunk at the bar. America left alone.

He looked up at the stars as he walked home, twinkling brightly at him. Liars, all liars. He hated them for how fake they were, pretending to bright and wonderful yet dark inside, he hated them. He hated himself.

The stars did not love him. They were fake, just as he was. Alone and floating purposelessly through space, feigning happiness for others to was no one out wandering the streets at this time of night. No one except him. He was alone.

He arrived back home after an eternity. The house was dark; it was always dark, even when he was home. He liked it that way, the darkness hid his lies.

He trudged upstairs, not even conscious of his movements. He went to his office; his own footsteps were the only noise in the house. One wall of the office was reserved solely for pictures. Most were framed, a few were not. America approached them sadly, taking the time to study each one. They were all of him smiling, truly smiling, and spending time with people who had once been his friends.

He pulled one of the framed pictures off the wall. One of him and his brother, Canada, both grinning as America had held the camera out at arm's length to take the picture. They had both been so happy back then, always smiling. America had ruined that, of course. With a feral scream, he threw the picture across the room. The frame snapped open and the glass shattered. America sank to his knees and cried.

When his tears were finally gone, America stood. He walked slowly downstairs, to the back yard. He lay down in the damp grass, staring up at the stars. They were his brothers, so alike in so many ways. Part of him hated them with a burning fury, but the other part of him loved them. They were his brothers. He could never hate his brothers.

His fingers began to tingle, as though they had fallen asleep. America raised his hands to look at them, or rather, look through them. He could see the stars through his hands, which were becoming more and more transparent by the moment. He was fading, America realized, fading out of existence. He smiled, truly smiled, and lowered his hands. He wasn't needed anymore. There was no reason for him to be here, no reason to stay. He gazed up at the stars, his brothers, as he disappeared.


End file.
